“They think we are the cause of the disappearance of Dan Murlock’s baby,” explained Alan to the manager with some bitterness.
“Yes,” continued Desmond, “and now they demand that we leave Marshfielden. That damned ‘Curse’ is driving us mad. These people are like a set of uncivilized savages, who believe in witchcraft and omens of the twelfth century.”
Mr. Dickson smiled as he answered them. “Our Marshfielden folk are unique. They are almost a race in themselves. As Cornishmen consider themselves ‘Cornish’ and not ‘English’ so Marshfielden men call themselves ‘Marshfieldens.’ It is true they are very superstitious for they believe implicitly in the folk lore that has been handed down to them from all time.”
“What would you advise us to do?” asked Alan somewhat impatiently.
Mr. Dickson thought a moment, and then said quickly, “The widow of one of our men lives in a little cottage not a quarter of a mile from here; it stands on Corlot ground—not Marshfielden. She has a hard struggle to make both ends meet. I will send round at once and see if she is willing to take you two as lodgers. If she will—then go to her, for she is clean, respectable, and will look after you well. Meanwhile, neither of you has had a day off yet, so go and arrange about your luggage, and I’ll see you are fixed up somewhere with rooms.”
“Thanks,” said Alan. “I shall be very sorry to leave Marshfielden though. It is such a quaint, old-world place.”
“Far too old-world for strangers,” said Mr. Dickson significantly. The little village street was buzzing with excitement when they reached Marshfielden. Women were rushing to and fro across the cobbled stones, and the whole place showed signs of some great disturbance.
As the boys approached, a sudden hush seemed to pervade the place, and the women huddled together and whispered “The ‘Curse’! The ‘Curse’!”
Alan shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll see to the things,” said he. “You go along to Mr. Winthrop, and tell him of the change in our plans.”
“Right, old boy,” and Desmond went towards Mr. Winthrop’s rooms, whistling and doing his best to ignore the hostile looks that were directed at him.